


paper faces on parade

by SweetTveitoPie



Series: prompts [9]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Denial of Feelings, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm bad at this, Idk what to tag this as, Masquerade Ball, Pining, canon era au??, eponine is also valjean's adopted daughter here, it's cute, it's like canon era but also not, masquerade au, pls just read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 00:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12399420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetTveitoPie/pseuds/SweetTveitoPie
Summary: She jumped in surprise when she felt him tap her shoulder and whirled around, her skirt swishing about as she did so. He tried his best not to lose his cool as he gave her a little bow, taking her hand and kissing it. He didn’t fail to note how she flushed red under her mask when he kissed her hand, and he stood back up, requesting lightly, “May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?”





	paper faces on parade

**Author's Note:**

> SO THIS IS MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT WRITING SOMETHING REMOTELY RESEMBLING CANON ERA AND IT'S PROBABLY REALLY BAD FUCK
> 
> i'm so bad at writing things that aren't modern au?? pls accept this
> 
> title inspired by none other than "Masquerade" from Phantom of the Opera (because duh)

“Look at you, gazing at that girl as if she’s a goddess.” Courfeyrac’s teasing remark brought Enjolras back to earth, and the golden-haired man blinked in surprise, caught off-guard.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Enjolras replied evenly, looking down at his feet.

The two men were idly standing about in the marketplace, observing the comings and goings of the people around them, anticipating the masquerade ball Marius Pontmercy’s grandfather Monsieur Gillenormand was holding that night. Enjolras had just been gazing thoughtfully at the lovely dark-haired young woman who was strolling through the marketplace with the blonde Fauchelevent girl before the sound of Courfeyrac’s voice caught his attention. For the past several weeks, Enjolras had developed quite an interest in the brunette beauty, whom he often saw accompanying the spirited young Cosette, with whom Marius was deeply infatuated, in the streets of Paris, and the rest of Les Amis de l’ABC had quickly picked up on Enjolras’ growing fascination with the girl—resulting in copious amounts of relentless teasing.

He disliked it.

Courfeyrac merely grinned and wiggled his eyebrows, saying, “She’s all you’ve focused on for over a month! Face it, my friend, you’re falling in love.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Enjolras snapped, annoyed that Courfeyrac would even think of suggesting such a thing. “I am not falling in love, especially not with a woman I have never spoken to. She merely intrigues me, that’s all.” He would never admit it, but her good looks were what caught his attention in the first place, and he grew more and more interested in her once he heard that she had been taken away from her parents by Monsieur Fauchelevent at a young age after finding out about her home situation. As a result, she and Cosette considered themselves sisters despite bearing no resemblance to each other. The fact that Monsieur Fauchelevent had two daughters who looked nothing like him and nothing alike had been the subject of much questioning among the Parisians, but the older man seemed to pay no mind to the rumours that they were bastard children.

“I’ve seen that look in a man’s eyes,” Courfeyrac told him, his dark eyes boring straight into Enjolras’ blue and making the latter rather uncomfortable. “You, dear Enjolras, are falling in love.”

“I don’t even know her name!” Enjolras pointed out in protest to emphasise how ridiculous Courfeyrac was being. There was absolutely no way he could possibly be falling for someone he doesn’t even know the name of, let alone spoken to.

“It’s Éponine,” Courfeyrac informed him, grinning. “Her name is Éponine. There, you have a name now so she won’t be known as the ‘mystery girl’ anymore.”

“I have never referred to her as the ‘mystery girl’,” Enjolras denied, scowling at his friend.

“Well, it’s implied,” Courfeyrac said simply, still with that maddening grin on his face. “She’ll be present at Monsieur Gillenormand’s masquerade ball tonight, you know.”

“Well, Marius _is_ courting her sister, so I suppose that is to be expected,” Enjolras replied, indifferent. He wasn’t too thrilled about the ball when he could be spending his time doing more important things, but Marius had begged him to attend and all of Les Amis were going anyway, so he had no choice but to go. And who knows—maybe he’ll finally be able to approach the brunette beauty who intrigued him so.

 _No, Enjolras!_ he told himself fiercely. Recalling Courfeyrac’s words, he began to think. _Could you be… attracted to her? No, no, that’s silly. You can’t possibly be attracted to someone you have never even directly interacted with._

 _Then why does the sight of her make your heart race?_ a little voice in the back of his mind pointed out.

 _It does not,_ Enjolras denied. He figured that if he lied to himself enough, he would start believing it.

 _Yes, it does,_ the little voice in his head argued. _Face it—you’ve fallen for her. You’ve never even spoken to her and yet seeing her already makes your heart beat faster, so who knows what might happen if you actually work up the courage to start a conversation?_

Almost without realising it, Enjolras began to think back to all the little quirks about her he had noticed during his weeks of discreetly observing her. How she threw her head back when laughing, the sunlight catching in her dark brown locks; her dazzling smile and how it showed off the dimples in her cheeks; the way she walked, not quite like other young ladies of her upbringing and more relaxed and lively; her lovely, fairly feisty personality and how she was never one to back down from a challenge…

Oh, goodness. Enjolras was in love.

Courfeyrac immediately noticed the look of realisation dawn on Enjolras’ face and smirked. “Are you still going to keep denying your feelings?” the dark-haired man prompted.

“There are no feelings to deny,” Enjolras declared a bit too loudly, as if announcing to the world that no, he was not in love. Definitely not. He would never even think of such a thing as _love_. No. Absolutely not.

Courfeyrac sighed in exasperation, irritated that the golden-haired man was still trying to keep up this charade. “Enjolras, stop lying to yourself.”

“I am not,” Enjolras denied firmly. Another lie.

“Yes, you are!” Courfeyrac contradicted in annoyance. When Enjolras kept silent, he huffed and said, “Well, we’ll see how things go at the masquerade tonight. Maybe you’ll admit that you have feelings for her then.” With that, he turned on his heel and marched away, disappearing into the crowds and leaving Enjolras standing alone.

Just then, Éponine and Cosette passed by, dressed in simpler, more practical versions of their normally elegant gowns and laughing about something together. As she and Cosette walked by, Éponine and Enjolras made eye contact and she smiled at him before blushing and looking down as she moved along. Enjolras stood there, gazing after her in wonder, and she looked over her shoulder. When she saw that he was still looking at her, she gave him yet another of her gentle, dazzling smiles before disappearing into the crowds.

Enjolras walked with a spring in his step all the way home.

* * *

“Are you excited?” Combeferre asked Enjolras on the carriage ride to Monsieur Gillenormand’s estate, smiling in anticipation. The men were dressed to the nines, their faces partially obscured by masks. Courfeyrac and Grantaire sat across from them, also in costume, engaged in rapid conversation. Enjolras paid them no mind.

The golden-haired man looked down at himself—he was clad in a wine red military jacket with gold buttons and trim, matching his pants and Venetian-style mask, a short cape draped over his shoulder, and black dress shoes. He had done nothing to his blond curls, leaving them as they are.

“I suppose I am,” Enjolras replied at last, shrugging.

“We get to guess who is whom!” Courfeyrac clapped his hands together and laughed. “Isn’t that fun?”

“People will probably recognise me right away,” Enjolras pointed out rather dully, knowing that his golden curls were definitely going to be a dead giveaway.

“No, they won’t,” Grantaire contradicted, leaning back and grinning lazily. “Will you ask Cosette’s pretty sister to dance with you? You fancy her, don’t you?”

“No, I do not,” Enjolras stoutly refuted. “And it is none of your business.”

“He’s in love with her,” Courfeyrac stage-whispered to Combeferre and Grantaire, making Enjolras turn scarlet.

“No, I am not!” he contradicted, exasperated beyond belief.

 _Stop lying to yourself!_ the voice in the back of his head screamed.

 _Shut up!_ Enjolras retorted.

Before he could say any more, they found that they had arrived at Monsieur Gillenormand’s estate, and Enjolras begrudgingly followed Combeferre out of the carriage and into the opulent ballroom, where a number of guests in disguise were already gathered, either dancing in the middle of the ballroom floor or milling about, chatting amongst themselves. Enjolras found himself searching the crowd for someone remotely resembling Éponine just when Marius approached them. At least, Enjolras thought it was Marius.

“Courfeyrac!” Yes, it was definitely Marius.

“How is it going?” Courfeyrac embraced his friend, pulling back to admire Marius’ costume.

“My Cosette hasn’t arrived yet,” Marius told him fretfully, looking over his shoulder and searching for Cosette. His face fell when he didn’t see a familiar head of blonde hair and he turned his attention back to Courfeyrac, patting his shoulder before his eyes travelled to the other three men. “Oh, Combeferre! Grantaire!” When his green eyes landed on Enjolras, a grin spread across his face. “Enjolras!”

“Your mask looks nice,” Enjolras told him, not particularly wishing to engage in conversation with the lovesick man. The mask covered part of his face nicely.

“Were you looking for dear Éponine, by any chance?” Marius guessed. He had heard quite a lot about Enjolras’ fascination with the brunette in the midst of drunken conversations in the café. A knowing smile broke out on his freckled, masked face when Enjolras turned red.

“No, I was not,” Enjolras replied curtly, turning on his heel to walk away. Behind him, he could hear Marius, Courfeyrac, and Grantaire burst out laughing and scowled to himself as he disappeared into the crowd of guests.

As he made his way to get himself a drink, he was heedless of how numerous young ladies were beginning to regard him with much interest and could only think about how all of his friends were convinced he was in love with Éponine. He’s never even been properly introduced to her, for goodness’ sake! She merely intrigued him, that’s all. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

Just then, he heard a shriek and a yell and the distinct sound of two people colliding and turned to see Marius and Cosette together, laughing and chatting and complimenting each other’s costumes. He rolled his eyes as the masked couple began to dance and was just about to turn away when he saw someone vaguely familiar.

His eyes widened with disbelief and his breath caught in his throat when he realised that it was Éponine.

She was dressed in a gorgeous gown in a deep crimson hue with black trim and a square neckline, her full skirt making her already small waist look even smaller. The flounces of her elbow-length sleeves were long black lace and her thick, dark hair was half up, partly piled on top of her head. And her mask… her mask was Venetian, much like Enjolras’, and it was stunning, glittering red and black with intricate patterns and tiny jewels embedded into it, and a large black feather completed the whole look nicely.

She looked bewitching.

He was gazing at her so intently, he hadn’t noticed that a young woman had walked up to him and tried to initiate a conversation, and only when she sharply poked him in the arm did he realise that she was standing there. The look of complete surprise on his face when he realised a lady was trying to talk to him must have been too obvious, and the woman stormed away, fuming. Enjolras turned his attention back to Éponine and saw that she looked rather lost and out of place, and before he realised what he was doing, he was approaching her.

She jumped in surprise when she felt him tap her shoulder and whirled around, her skirt swishing about as she did so. He tried his best not to lose his cool as he gave her a little bow, taking her hand and kissing it. He didn’t fail to note how she flushed red under her mask when he kissed her hand, and he stood back up, requesting lightly, “May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?”

Éponine turned even redder and nodded wordlessly, letting him gently take her to the middle of the dance floor and place one hand on her shoulder blade, his other in hers. Her other hand slid up to rest on his bicep as they began to waltz in time to the music, and Enjolras found that she was quite light on her feet, dancing with ease as he twirled her about.

“Have we met before, Monsieur?” Éponine questioned, gazing into his captivating blue eyes and holding his gaze as they danced. “I feel like I have seen you before. Your eyes are captivating.”

Under his mask, Enjolras blushed, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden in front of this alluring young woman. “I don’t believe we have, Mademoiselle,” he replied carefully, gazing straight into her eyes.

“You look familiar,” Éponine told him. “I could have sworn that I walked past a man who had your hair and eyes just this morning.”

“I doubt that was me,” Enjolras lied, remembering every single second of their brief encounter perfectly. Changing the subject, he continued, “You look beautiful tonight.”

“You look very handsome yourself, Monsieur,” Éponine replied candidly, observing his blue eyes as he lifted her and set her down again. Enjolras, usually so stoic, smiled.

They said nothing more as they continued to dance, gazing into each other’s eyes the entire time and never breaking eye contact. Éponine wondered who it could possibly be as Enjolras effortlessly lifted her and twirled her in time to the music. Once their waltz was over, Enjolras leaned in and whispered, “Care to sneak away with me? I doubt we will be missed.”

“Very well, then,” Éponine agreed quietly, taking his hand and allowing him to guide her to the side of the ballroom, where nobody was likely to see them, and outside into Monsieur Gillenormand’s labyrinthine garden, where they were the only ones there.

Éponine pulled her hand away and gazed up towards the star-studded heavens, sighing and taking in the fresh air. “Can I tell you something, Monsieur?” she asked, gazing at Enjolras, her dark eyes sparkling behind her mask.

“What is there to tell, Mademoiselle?” Enjolras prompted, motioning for her to go on.

Éponine leaned closer and told him quietly, “I only came because my sister is being courted by the grandson of the host. Papa made me come, since he doesn’t like me staying at home by myself. I didn’t want to go,” she confided, gazing into Enjolras’ blue eyes, “but now, I think I would have regretted it if I had stayed at home.”

Enjolras turned red under his mask, glad that they were only illuminated by the dim glow of the full moon and stars. “You’re a wonderful dancer, Mademoiselle,” he complimented as they began to stroll through the garden together, masks still hiding their faces from each other.

Éponine felt her face grow warm as she replied, “Oh, it’s really nothing, Monsieur, compared to my sister’s dancing. She’s a lovely dancer, far better than I will ever be.” She sighed and gazed at the flowers as they walked, murmuring, “Sometimes, I feel like running away. I don’t quite fit into society—I’m always the odd one out, the lonely girl, the other bastard child. My sister is far more beautiful than me, and she is always the one with a lot of suitors chasing after her. I have never had a man chase after me, and it’s not that I mind; it’s just that I feel rather jealous of my sister sometimes.”

“I think you’re just as beautiful as your sister, Mademoiselle,” Enjolras told her sincerely, pausing for a moment before adding, “Maybe even more beautiful.”

Éponine looked down and smiled to herself, feeling as if she knew him. “Really, Monsieur—have we met before?” she asked again, convinced that she knew him from elsewhere. “I _know_ that I know you.”

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked, his breath hitching in his throat momentarily when her hand slipped into his. His heart began to beat faster in his chest as they walked amid the flowers, hand in hand. _What is going on, Enjolras? Are you really in love with her?_ Deep down, he knew the answer was yes, but he wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with his feelings just yet.

“You really do remind me of someone,” Éponine insisted, although her voice was still gentle. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.” They walked in silence for some more before Enjolras spoke up.

“Can you… tell me more about how you feel? You know, what you spoke about earlier,” he clarified, seeing the look in her eyes beneath her mask. “About not fitting into society.”

Éponine sighed and stared straight ahead, taking time to think about how to word her thoughts properly. “I feel like… like I’m too wild and carefree for society,” she said at last, letting out a long-winded sigh. “I’m never ‘proper’ enough, and although I can appreciate how some women my age do genuinely wish to be proper ladies, it was just never for me. I’m always the odd one out at events, always in a corner and watching everyone else socialise. Everyone keeps expecting me to be this prim, proper young lady, and I’m just not. I disappoint them. That’s probably why my only friend is my sister,” she mused, chuckling in a somewhat resigned manner to herself. “Even then, she has been spending most of her time with her beau Marius nowadays, and I was just left at home alone, reading and being bored out of my mind.”

“Well, you aren’t alone now, Mademoiselle,” Enjolras reminded her, squeezing her hand. “I’m always here.”

Éponine laughed and looked down, loving the feeling of his hand in hers. “You make fine company, Monsieur,” she told him, turning her head to look at him and smile. He couldn’t help but think about how beautiful she looked, that lovely mask still covering part of her face. “Pray tell—what are _you_ doing here? I mean, I suppose a fine man such as yourself would be present at an event such as this, but I saw you earlier before we danced and you were standing around alone. You didn’t seem particularly interested in being here.”

“Marius is my friend,” Enjolras replied simply. “All of my other friends are here, too, and they talked me into attending, so I came. I didn’t expect to find myself dancing with such a lovely woman.”

Éponine blushed in the moonlight and squeezed his hand, making his heart race. “I didn’t expect to dance with a handsome man like you. I usually stand around, watching my sister be the centre of attention.” She turned to face him and they just stood there for several moments, gazing into each other’s eyes as Éponine wondered who this mysterious gentleman could possibly be. Enjolras’ hand reached up to trace her jawline with his thumb, humming softly and wondering what on earth had gotten into him.

Oh, dear. He was in love.

At long last, Éponine broke the silence and requested, “May I see your face? You’ve been a lovely companion to me this evening and I want to see you again.”

“Only if I may see your face as well,” Enjolras replied, smiling at her. Éponine sighed and laughed.

“Very well, then.” She took off her mask right when Enjolras did, showing themselves to each other for the first time, and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Enjolras’ face.

“You’re very beautiful, Mademoiselle,” he told her genuinely, taking her hand to kiss it.

“You’re that man from the marketplace!” Éponine realised out loud, laughing when she processed it. “I _knew_ I’ve seen you before! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I believe the whole point of a masquerade is to guess who is whom,” Enjolras replied teasingly, unable to keep himself from smiling at the joyful realisation on Éponine’s face. Éponine’s laughter died down as she gazed up into his eyes, never having had someone look at her like that. She realised that she wanted this, to have someone gaze at her with nothing but utter love and affection in their eyes like Marius did with Cosette, and she then realised that this mysterious golden-haired gentleman was the only one who could make her feel such things with such a glance.

 _Can people really fall in love so fast?_ she asked herself as they continued to gaze into each other’s eyes, saying nothing. Her breath caught in her throat when he caressed her cheek and began to lean in, ever so slow, giving her every opportunity to pull away. Instead, she found herself leaning in as well, her eyes fluttering shut when their lips met.

Enjolras instantly melted at the feeling of her soft lips pressed against his, and his other hand reached up to cup her face as Éponine simply stood there, her arms at her sides as he kissed her. When he pulled away and dropped his hands from her face, she gazed into his breathtaking blue eyes with a look of utter surprise, amazed by his actions.

“What is your name, Monsieur?” Éponine asked breathlessly.

“Enjolras,” he replied. “And you, Mademoiselle? What is your name?”

“Éponine,” she responded, blushing faintly in the moonlight. He smiled, just realising for the first time what a lovely name that was, and without warning, she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him into another kiss, making his blue eyes widen in surprise before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, pressing his lips firmly to hers and softly moaning something that sounded very much like her name into the kiss as her hand found its way into his hair, running her fingers through his golden curls and softly moaning his name against his lips. When they broke apart for air, Enjolras found that he was at a loss for words, utterly enchanted by this bewitching woman standing before him.

“Mademoiselle Éponine,” he breathed, at a search for words. “May I see you again?”

“Only if I may see you too, Monsieur Enjolras,” Éponine responded coyly, never having had her breath taken away by someone before. Enjolras smiled at her and pulled her into another kiss, making her sigh contentedly against his lips as they found themselves locked in a passionate embrace, kissing in the middle of the garden and disregarding everything around them, the world melting away.

Far at the edge of the garden, Marius and Cosette stood there, partially concealed by rosebushes, delighted little smiles on their faces as they observed Éponine and Enjolras sharing a sweet, romantic moment. Marius turned to his belle and murmured, “I told you he was in love with her.”

**Author's Note:**

> so, this was probably really bad and confusing. oh well
> 
> as hard as this was, it was quite fun to write! i'm really bad at describing period clothing fuck (i had something similar to raoul's masquerade costume in mind for enjolras, but it's dark red and gold instead of black and gold)
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr and request more shit!
> 
> comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!!


End file.
